I'm trying to boil the ocean here. Help or get out of the way.

I saved a place for you
I saved a place for all of you

Like I said, a whole lot of shouting and a nice shoving match in the driveway and everything is alright again. Lochlan erupted like a volcano somewhere after keeping himself contained all through dinner and homework supervision and sending the kids off to play games or read and then he went after Ben like a rocket. He can be a little cold to Ben's charms most of the time. If it's about him he caves, if it's about me he loses his shit. He was followed out by most of the others, who weren't interested in seeing this on a Friday night after a long week.

They held him back and let him yell himself hoarse until he had it all out of his system. All of it. Then when he was spent Ben walked over to him and put him into a bearhug and they didn't move forever. Dalton lingered on the front porch in case there were any further points Loch wanted to make but he was subtle about it. Busy with his phone. I sat on the rock wall and watched as Ben whispered to Lochlan, not using charm but instead weakness. He'll lay himself bare, leaving nothing left open to misinterpretation. Loch finally put his arms up around Ben's back and held on so hard, sagging against him, worn the fuck out. Disarmed, as it were.

When I looked up Caleb and Joel were standing just in the shadows between the garage and the stable. Hands in pockets. Watching. Faces expressionless. Caleb meets my eyes and tries to hold them but I refuse to acknowledge him and hop down from the wall. I follow Dalton inside and Duncan comes to take his place on the porch until Ben and Lochlan are ready to come inside.

***

When I get to the brightly lit kitchen it's empty save for Preacher 2.0 sitting on a stool at the island, Ben's guitar in his arms, head down, eyes closed, strumming quietly. I can't hear what he's playing and I turn and try to head upstairs instead but he calls my name.

I go back in and dutifully sit up beside him, legs swinging, staring at his handsome face even though he's still there with his eyes closed, trying to get the chord just right.

I almost flinch when he speaks again after sitting there watching him for so long in silence.

Thanks for the magnificent show of drama to distract me from missing Matt.

I roll my eyes and he catches me, opening one eye, squinting at me, smiling quietly. I think I had less to do with this than you all seem to understand.

I know. It's nice to be part of the weirdness.

That's what living here is all about, Sam.

How do you feel about all this?

I was just worried Ben would start drinking. I don't think I could stand it if he had to go away again.

I know that, Fidget. I didn't mean about Ben.

You mean...about you. 

Yes. 

I need to go see how Ben is doing. 

***

But I didn't go back out front. Instead I went through the side door and back to the boathouse where Caleb had returned alone and was still standing just outside his front door, on the water side where there is a long wooden balcony from the steps to the end of the kitchen outside with a glass rail overlooking the cliff. The first fifty times I walked it I was terrified but now I just consider it a part of my show.

He was leaning on the rail, hands outstretched, looking over my surrogate sea.

Bridget, this isn't going over well with anyone.

What isn't? I ask him. And for the record, I'm still not speaking to you! So there!

So why are you here?

I don't know where I'm supposed to be! 

He let go of the rail and turned to me, looking amused for the first time all day. You have two husbands and a dozen friends. All up there split between two houses and you don't know where you're supposed to be so you come...here.

The verbal equivalent of duct tape.

For crying out loud, Bee! I was kidding about Sam. Do you really think I would do that?

Were you kidding about Lochlan? Or Caleb for that matter?

Hey, don't even-I LOVE Lochlan. It isn't the same. And I thought you were always up for Caleb's invitations. It didn't seem like it was hurting anyone.

Except Lochlan. Oh, and me. Don't forget me.

Who could? It's not likely.

Oh, I can be forgotten-

Bridget! That's not what I mean. I mean you're the reason we're here. You're the nucleus of this house. When you're gone I think every single person here is lost.

You mean every lost person here is single.

No, I don't and don't do that.

Do what?

Win this with your words.

Okay. I'll use bald logic then.

I meant no harm.

But you caused some anyway. Don't you see that?

I wanted to take control back from Loch. I'll admit it. He was loving being the main focus. I needed something back.

So you tried to give me to Sam?

No. I just said that to cause shit.

And Matt agreed with you!

Matt still doesn't really understand the magnitude of Bridget as a force of human nature.

Sure he does, Ben.

Then why did he agree to it?

Because Sam is clingy. Like me. No one fucking likes that. It's nice to get a break, isn't it?

You don't miss much.

I see everything and can fix little.

You are little and can fix everything.

How?

By sticking to your guns, Bumble One.

Then stop causing trouble, Capital B. That's my job.

True.

Nice, Ben.

I'm sorry, Baby.

What would you have done if I had been all for it and then left you both to go live happily ever after down the hall with the reverend and the scientist?

I would be fucking dumbstruck and forever aghast at my own stupidity and forever missing you. Unless..

Unless what?

Unless they gave me latitude for cuddles with you.

Cuddles?

I mean x-rated fuckage, of course. That's the singular definition of cuddles.

So you did try to farm me out to Sam!

No, with him cuddles is just that. Cuddles. Cuddling. Side by each. Fully clothed.

Tucker, you're a piece of work. 

I'm trying to make everyone here happy. Jesus. Sam is miserable. I'm miserable. You seem to be the only bright spot in anything. Nucleus. The center of the universe. This is what I'm trying to say. And at the end of the day I'd rather see you love everyone a little than love one with everything. 

Does Loch represent that much of a threat to you?

Possibly. 

Then we need to sort this out. You can't love someone wholeheartedly if you're worried about them taking everything you've got. 

I can't fix this, Bridget. I told you that. Why do you think things have been so tough lately. I see you together and it hurts and I know its going to hurt worse before it gets better. Everyone says it's inevitable. 

They also said Cole was a standup guy and Caleb was never a threat. What does that tell you?

That...they're blind as fuck. Oblivious. 

Right. So don't listen to them because they don't know me. 

That's the problem, though. They do. 

Not as well as you seem to think. Why do you think they're still so surprised that you're right here, beside me? Because they are blind as fuck. Oblivious. 

Oh. now I understand when you say I give you backhanded compliments. You're making me feel better by insulting me. 

Is it working?

I think so, yes. 

Okay, so fuck off with the lax permissions. 

I'm your husband, not your keeper. I'm not going to put down rules. 

That's fine but don't give me away, either. 

But I'm such a lucky guy. I want the world to see. 

So film it or start a webcam or something. 

Really? I can do that?

NO. Jesus, Ben.
 

Thought I left the freakshow in a flat run but no, it came with me.

Let me wash away the painful words I wrote
We can smother out the flames within my soul
No more standing by the way that I believe
We can smother out the flames
With gasoline

Sometimes you have to accept that certain people do things for your benefit even when at the time it seems to defy logic right up until the moment that you get it. Like Lochlan waiting for audible confirmation every single night when he would head out for teardown or repairs.

Lock the door, Peanut. 

And he wouldn't go until he heard the lock click in the door of the camper.

Like Caleb demanding that my guardianship be split three ways. Not only to protect me but also to keep his own motives transparent and open and easily questionable. So anything Lochlan or PJ (the other two) doesn't like that he does they can discuss.

(By discuss, I mean push and shove each other and shout a lot until they get it sorted out.)

So the story goes that Sam got a little fed up with Ben's attempts to turn the tables and gave up on him this morning. Not cracking exactly but handing him off without hesitation to Joel, who spent all summer reiterating that he could help but no one would let him, as he was brought on to be of service in addition to all the other reasons for which he now won't leave.

I would have laughed but I really don't find this any funnier, honestly and sometimes Ben has really great ideas and sometimes Ben needs to be less of a bully about things that the common folk (all of us) are freaked out about that he takes in stride. 

Like sharing.

I think he figured the amusement pedigree alone would make us less uptight about certain things. All I can say is can you just IMAGINE how uptight we would have been had we not had that? God. It would have been stupendous, exasperating and so rigid it might shatter should you knock on it to see how strong it is.

(Ben had tried to give Sam a break in missing Matt by offering a little more cuddle time with Bridget which is so not cool and made Lochlan rather rageish) but Ben does these things with that sweet little-boy I'm-not-up-to-no-good smile that makes people marry him in some sort of fugue only to be reminded that later on he'll eat the contents of the cutlery drawer and then write you a fucking song that will liquify your fucking face or your knees, whichever he's in the mood to do and you forgive him somewhere between realizing you're now made of lava and it hurts and throwing your panties at his face.)

So here comes Joel and I alternately want to thank Caleb and wind up with my heaviest pot in my hands and whack him right off his feet for this. Joel can't counsel Ben. Joel will probably sleep with him too and then say Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't help it, you're so tiny and fragile and alone in this big bad world and Ben would fall apart and believe every word until he remembers that he is six inches taller than Joel and has been around longer, in worse places so hopefully he'll laugh or maybe he'll just rip Joel's head off and eat the contents of his chest for breakfast (all with that innocent gaze) or maybe Joel will actually work his magic before Ben has time to charm him. I'm not sure which way I'm hoping it will go as long as it results in Ben feeling a little less like tissue paper and a little more like kevlar, because then when he feels better I will knock him off his feet with this pot too.

Eventually I'll tell him the coffee wasn't good but not now.

Let me stay here for just one more night
Build your world around me
And pull me to the light
So I can tell you that I was wrong
I was a child then but now I'm willing to learn,

Lying on the low white couch this morning in front of the glorious hard rain, the window my theatre screen while the devil makes me coffee. I'm his guinea pig. I'm not a coffee snob, nor am I oblivious though I maintain a cup of black questionably-aged coffee at a truck stop McDonalds in 1996 remains the best cup I've ever had, so I'm the perfect test subject for his new machine.

I just can't take my eyes off the rain.

We have meetings today and errands. I think he's going to pick up a Blackberry Passport. He asked me if I wanted a new phone. Heck no. And he has to switch cars for a day or so while his is serviced and detailed. He said he might get an Aston Martin and hesitated waiting for an impression to be made. I finally turn and gaze at him with my head aching and my eyes filmed with the beauty of the sea. What? I was just thinking about coffee from a truck stop and he thinks I'll be dazzled by his choice of cars?

But no, he wants to know what sort of latitudes Ben has extended to me in the past several days, latitudes I chose to defy and ignore. They won't help anyone, least of all those they are designed to console. But I see Ben thinks he's falling so he alternately throws everything at me with one arm and with the other he's blocking Lochlan's access to all of anything just because he thinks the minute that happens, well, it's over.

Ben is not falling though. He's just not feeling so tough. Why would he? Life isn't designed to be comfortable, I told you this days ago. It's all tears and white knuckles and gritted teeth and choked-back emotions punctuated with blinding black polkadots of pure soaring happiness.

So why would I tell the Devil anything? He already knows everything and so he invented a few more meetings (ramping up for fall, certificates coming due, need your input on these, and any other buzz phrases he can conjure for me on this bleak and beautiful grey fall day) in order to keep me close so I don't fulfill any of Ben's wishlist for self-destruction, now with built-in safety features!

Instead I'm going to sit right here for at least half the day signing a last name he hates and trying and failing to sing along with the Adele album I put on but don't know the words to. Because that's fucking annoying to him and today, I don't think I want to be anything but.

Sway (yeah, just perfect.)

You see, things were better before
The storm came and nobody wanted to breathe
And times were hard again for you and me

And I can't remember what time it was
That I'm supposed to be here now I'm late for love
For you take it all back from me back behind the door of love

We went to see Nolan for a few days, just Ben and I, a trip sanctioned only because Nolan's such a hardass with me. I can't charm him or loop him in or even deceive him and true to form I burst into tears when I saw him, telling him Ben won't talk to Sam, he won't talk to anyone lately and Nolan reassured me and then asked me if I could help inside and he and Ben would work outside and I found a neatly-folded mending pile and a decent station on the radio and I settled in front of the fire to sew, vaguely, coldly comforted by Nolan's open-heart policy for Ben, who kind of got shoved to the side somewhere between Lochlan's accident and Sam's inability to crawl out of his own grief over missing Matt.

I got all of the mending done the first afternoon and then spent the next two days looking out the window at the cold, Ben and Nolan out of sight, working on fixing the fence, getting the storm windows in while they worked to reinforce Ben at the same time. Nolan doesn't like to travel much anymore, neither does Ben so he made sure to have a very high-quality visit, accomplishing a lot, inside and out. It became obvious so very quickly that he really didn't want me there but he was not willing to leave me back at home, alone with the Jester and the Devil and at night he took out his resentment for me on me, tearing my clothes off, throwing everything to the floor, forcing his weight down on me, covering my face with his hand, refusing to listen, grinding me out so hard that I would start to shake and couldn't stop, even as I fell asleep locked tight in his arms, he couldn't stop it and it made him feel worse instead of better and it made me feel wrecked and awful.

By day I fielded the endless long-distance barometer. How are we? Better. How is he? Great. Doing really well. How often do you lie, Bridget? Ask me later.

And then suddenly on the last night there it was like Ben saw me, without a team. Without a squad or a staff or a wall. Without outside influence. Without clothes or makeup or even my long hair I used to hide behind. Just clear and focused and pure. Right there. Right now, Ben. This is either as good as things are ever going to get or we need to work hard to get back to the place we liked to be and maybe if you'd stop doing things that make you hate yourself, well, maybe you'd like yourself a little more. I'm not taking those orders you gave me for Sam. I'm not running with freedoms granted, I'm not changing a goddamned thing so maybe you should stop testing me and just BE with me.

Just be, as you always say. Take your own advice for once. Roll with it because this is who we are.

And he laughed and asked if I wanted less freedom and I sort of side-eyed myself and said, well, let's not be harsh here...but then we both started laughing and this time I didn't shake when he put his arms out. And I didn't cry and he didn't wish he could just have one drink and neither one of us felt pushed out of the room, pushed out of our own existence, we just saw each other and it's certainly not an end to the endless difficulties we like to make of life but it's a little bit of a safer place to be for now.

The ineffectual junkie.

Not by choice but by simple discovery have I come to realize that I was meant to experience life via my own white knuckles only.

There will be no escapism. No drunk forgetfulness. No free pass. No passing out. No drug-induced haze. No reprieve and therefore, no surrender. I won't get the choices given to most, excused by virtue of a controlled substance, forgotten because of too much wine. There will be no pain eased by a decision to throw it to the wind, no writing off of harsh moments or jabs of honesty because it will be experienced in full sober clarity.

I am positive I'm not alone in this, but I'm sure there are precious few others. Maybe there are a lot who just keep trying anyway but I know when enough is enough and I can be surrounded by people who can make the hard parts go away. They know their medicines. The cost, the reward, the side effects and the consequences. Maybe they are the lucky ones.

Or maybe in the end I will be the lucky one, the one with life in focus, that life that I can barely see as I squint my eyes half-shut to endure whatever comes next.

(AKA I'm not dead. Nice rumor though. I'm touched.)

Sleeping in the spotlight.

Take what you need, Bridget, but for our sakes, need what you take.

Ben whispered it to me a long time ago and it comes back to me now, words filling my head as I hesitate at the door, head cocked distinctly, listening hard for sounds in the house. How many times have I stood outside this door knowing things were on the other side that I could have if I wanted, but that I shouldn't but I did anyway. That the one here now needs more than I could ever provide. That permissions are granted but that it won't make it easier. That they will suck it up, absorb the blows, eat the pain, spit out the bones and be men and I will make it up to them, melting away betrayals, softening pain, swallowing fresh air to soothe the ache of regret.

I turn away and leave the door the way I found it, closed against a room filled with loneliness on the other side that will take months to heal. I can't fix this. I can't be a part of this. I can't put myself anywhere near this. I have enough on my plate right now and no appetite at all.

Formula one.

Somebody stepped inside your soul
Somebody stepped inside your soul
Little by little they robbed and stole
Till someone else was in control

I'm sure Lochlan is getting better just to prove to Ben that he isn't using his accident to earn extra time or attention from me. He blew me off twice already today when I offered to help him with things like breakfast and errands. He's very stubborn like that. He's always insisted there is no actual formula to winning oneself a Bridget. It's all about being in the right place at the right time and our darkened childhood street at nine in the evening on a warm summer night in 1979 was that place, he says. The rest is fate. The rest is the universe doing what it does best. Astronomy and Astrology are closely tied. The universe is a giant beating heart and we are the force that drives this big blue ball spinning rapidly through the galaxy, around the sun like a slingshot and back again, time speeding past us in a frenzy like hard weather. Time demanding to be spent before it's gone.

(Gee, Lochlan.You don't think it as anything to do with the way you've always done that, describing things to me in terms of love, in terms of things just being right because there is you and there is me. Nope. It was definitely hitting me in the head with your street hockey ball. You should always give your eight-year-old neighbor a concussion and then they will follow you around for the rest of your days like a baby duckling. That's the formula? Give me a break.)

He actually says all these things in between when I gave up on the new U2 album and put on my favorite one, The Unforgettable Fire. He sings along with the title song. He doesn't need any help to finish it today. That's how we seem to be marking his progress. They still insist he was fortunate to be so skilled as to be able to control not taking in any more of the fuel in an attempt to catch his breath. If he had panicked he would still be in the hospital or even worse and maybe that makes me clingy.

Like a moon, he says. Tied to a planet. 

More like a solar flare, I tell him. After all, if you're the sun..

He smiles.

Walk on by
Walk on through
Walk 'til you run
And don't look back
For here I am

Ninety-nine days until Christmas and here's our first present.

We got a deal. After a non-existent graduation for Henry, a reprieve from three terms of questionable marks for Ruth and an extra month+ off, it looks like the kids are finally going back to school.

Finally. The strike is just about over. They have a deal.

Caleb had given me a deadline of October first and then he was going to force my hand and send them to boarding school, but only because he doesn't like the private schools here any better than the public schools.

He's a hard sell, that Mr. Ivy League. He's up against me, a high school degenerate who went on to drop out of college. That wouldn't give me much leeway with our own family mediator, and so I had to pull up my britches and lean solely on my role as Mom. Which doesn't have much clout either. Mom's a former circus performer. Mom's deaf, has two husbands and some boyfriends and mom is under guardianship. They listen to Mom and then pat her on the head and give Caleb whatever he wants.

That's my life, in a nutshell right now. My lawyer takes all of my money. Okay, he takes all of Caleb's money. Interesting how that works isn't it? Yes. Shh.

But I somehow came out intact and the kids get to go back soon to their beloved school with the awesome atrium, double playing field and all their friends already in place. Thank God.

Thank Vince, actually. Mr. Ready got the job done, in spite of a short-sighted, heavily-skewed government and a tough bitch of a union besides.If the deal goes through it looks like this won't happen again until after Henry graduates. We squeaked through, I hope.

The pixie that roared.

(You can turn around right now and kiss me if you want to.)

I had a plan and Daniel didn't even bother to ask me if I was sure. He just took the scissors that I brought him and started cutting and pretty soon the pale blonde halo was all over the floor and my head was colder than I thought it would be.

He peeled the pictures of Jean Seberg that I had brought with me for reference off the mirror and nodded. You're so cute you I would almost go straight for you. 

From your lips to God's ears, Danny. I kissed him on the cheek. He was alarmed. Wait. He could blow dry my hair and put texturing mud in it but I was itchy and wanted to go home and shower. I borrowed a knit hat and ran across the yard like a tiny strike of lightning. No one caught me which is weird. Usually they know where I am and I can't get away from anyone. I wondered if I should take advantage of this sudden freedom but no. Itchy. Haircuts make me crawl all over.

Ben opened the shower door just before I ducked fully under the spray.

Let me see you. 

I walked back out, naked. Shoulders squared. Foolish and brave. Your brother's a rat. I was saving the surprise for the party!

Jesus, your head is tiny. 

What do you think?

I think I love it. You look beautiful. 

I smiled. I wasn't sure what anyone would think. I'm not sure which part of me cares. I needed to do this. I needed to lose the mermaid princess hair. I needed a fresh start this fall. I need a lot of things. I probably would have been better off asking Daniel to shove those scissors straight into my forehead and twist and remove the contents of my skull but hey, nothing lifts one's spirits better than a 'makeover', according to common advice so weee, folks, here we go.

It took one pea-sized drop of shampoo and exactly eight seconds to wash it and then I think it was dry before I hung up my towel. I high-fived myself in the foggy mirror. At least I think it was me. I look so different now, maybe it was actually someone else.

I walked back out into the bedroom and Loch was standing right there, in the way. Well shit! No surprise for him either as I watch the shock give way to pleasure. Not sure if that's because I'm naked or he sees my hair. Er..lack of it.

Okay, so maybe both. Let's just say it's definitely one strategy worth trying. Always present new scary things sans clothes. It softens the blow.

I try to square my shoulders again, try to look taller but apprehension squeezes me back down into a ball of anxiety so I fake it.

Let me see you. 

I square again. Got a well-meaning trapezoid this time, at least. Maybe a parallelogram.

Who cut it? Oh. He thinks Caleb shaved my head and now he's gearing up for war. I kick the weapons and armor to the side and deliver the forfeiture in person, with relief.

Daniel. He did a really good job, didn't he?

You look....

I hold my breath. Maybe I can pass out cold before he finishes and spare myself his disappointment as he doesn't like strangers anymore and my hair was his security blan-

Brand new.

Really?

Really. I don't even believe it. You're all eyes and bones now though.

Oh. 

No, I mean you look graceful and beautiful. Just. Wow. I don't even have the right words. Maybe you should have done it a long time ago. Just...so beautiful. We're lucky. You know that? You're so beautiful. 

The stranger blushes. Oh, well SHIT. No hiding that now, I guess. I try to be gracious. Thank you. 

Hours later I have heard good things from everyone save for one. The party was amazing. A great send off and a fun belated birthday do-over. Everyone was very kind and helpful and fun. It was a good evening.

 I am gathering up some of the empty dishes left in the barn when he fills the doorway.

Let me see you.

I turn to face the Devil, amused that he used the same words as both my loves. Amused that they all need a moment. I can't even square anymore, can't muster a lazy rectangle even so I just stand small and look at the floor. My bravery would have been smartly fueled by alcohol tonight but the party was dry.

I note he has one of his own glasses from the boathouse and is drinking whiskey. I hold my hand out for the glass and he flashes a bemused smile before handing the drink over. Once I've had it I can easily gather myself into a cube-type-thing and I wait for his reaction.

He holds his hand out for the glass and I hand it back, empty. He holds it up to his lips anyway and tilts his head up, eyes still on me. Not realizing that there isn't anything left.

(Oo. A metaphor.)

Wow.  He says it softly. I almost missed it.You're breathtaking.

No, I'm the boy I always wanted to be. We both burst out laughing.

No, no one's going to mistake you for a boy, Bridget.

Oh well, wait til you see phase two. I'm going to start wearing Loch's shirts and 501s and then I'll pass for one for sure.

Don't do that, he says. Just be you.

I didn't want to be Jacob's princess anymore, Caleb. Or your doll. I just want to be me.

I think you're doing a hell of a job then. Because you look like you.

Does this mean you're going to set me free? 

Of course not. But I very much like your haircut. 

Bash.

Tonight we're having a big party here, a belated birthday celebration for Lochlan (now a rocking ONE on the pain scale, he's a tough bastard) and a Bon Voyage party for Matt, headed overseas tomorrow night. It will be catered and servers are coming. I already cook for twenty people (give or take) on a thrice-daily basis so no one was willing to add any more work to my day. The only thing I was tasked with was making the cake and finding something suitable to wear to an event that will begin while it's thirty degrees in the shade and end when it's less than ten.

I used the wedding pans from the nineties, when Cole worked as a chef and we did wedding cakes on the side for friends and family. The cake is huge and gorgeous. I covered it with chocolate dipped strawberries and it's filled with strawberry cream and I want to eat all of it, now.

But I won't. PJ took it to the bigger fridge next door and extracted promises that they don't eat it either until after it is presented.

Now I have a date with my favorite hairdressers (Daniel and Schuyler!) and then a shopping trip to find a dress. I will tell you all about all of it tomorrow, unless it's still going on then, that is.

(Probably not. I rarely make it to midnight anymore, and if I do I turn into a pumpkin.)

Lines of credit.

I think I'll die if you deny me
Swallowed alive in eternity
Give me a way to be the agony
That knew you all along

I woke up today in an old familiar position, under Lochlan as he kissed up underneath my ear, my hands pinned over my head with one hand, his other hand around my throat.

Oh, well, someone's feeling better. Finally. But only a little. We took it slow. I'm not sure it's forbidden, exactly and we didn't spend hours or anything but he's whistling a happier tune this morning as he draws cartoons and drinks his coffee and says he's at a 3 on the pain scale today so hey, should I get credit for this or what?

***

Ben didn't sleep last night. I found him face down in a laptop on the big couch in his studio downstairs this morning and he woke up quickly, shook off the sleep and told me he had to show me something. He put the headphones on me and spun my chair away and I closed my eyes. We have a rule, no watching my expressions when I hear his music for the first time.

I'm terrible with them, honestly and it destroys his fragile ego to pieces so I turn away and I get three listens through and then he asks for my thoughts.

Not my opinion, which I don't and won't give, just my thoughts.

And Jesus. I struggled to be sure I heard the words correctly on the first listen. On the second listen I cried and on the third I was thinking, Damn, boy, you've still got it but you keep it locked up so tight and yet it shines through.

Even though it's a song about a tug of war, not with a rope, but with my heart. He credits me with giving him so much mileage as his reluctant muse. It's just dumb.

He pulled the headphones off me and spun me back around.

Tell me what you feel when you hear that.

***

Matt is being sent on some sort of scientist-exchange program. They delayed it for a long time based on his newlywed status but the time has come.  He'll be in London for seven or eight weeks working on a project. Sam is completely nonplussed and I remind him loudly and insensitively of the completely stupid things he said to try and comfort me with when they all moved out here and left me and the children in the Prairies for thirteen weeks straight.

He now sees why they didn't work, at least. Nothing makes it better except living for Facetime. At least he has the rest of us here for distractions and cuddles. I hardly even got that. He said it just proves I am tougher than he is. Who knew?

Well, I knew, but I probably don't get credit for that either.

***

Caleb found out that some of the boys were calling him Canadian Psycho behind his back and sent out a half-page email detailing the very definitions of respect and concession, that we all have to coexist here peacefully for the sake of Bridget and the children and inciting arguments via name calling would not be tolerated.

Or what, I think?

Because credit goes to me for not allowing him to banish anyone without my express approval. I'm not hanging anyone out to dry unless their behavior crosses MY lines, not his. Everyone has struggled and fought and built their character to a degree where they have earned the right to be a part of this collective and it would take a lot more than deploying a freakishly accurate nickname wrought by a beloved movie to change that. Besides, we won't give up who started it.

(I might get credit for that, too.)

Music makes us extremely melodramatic.

(Not sure if you noticed.)

I can be a better artifact
Or I can be a bitter king
I should know what I'm made of
But I'm starting to believe
That I can never leave

Maybe that's how like-minded individuals find their kindred spirits. In any case,  I went to check on Satan this morning and I could hear the record playing through the window before I even got near the steps.

I almost turned around but my muse, oh, sweet troublesome Curiosity, well, she demanded to know what was going on in the mind of the Devil himself.

She's so difficult sometimes.

I stole a glance back at the main house and went up the steps and down the walkway and was about to knock when the music stopped and he opened the door. I can almost sense you now. Exciting times.

I laugh at Caleb's face. Your deck is loud with these shoes.

Don't you mean your shoes are loud?

Yes. So you heard me. You didn't sense me.

No, I sensed you.

What do you want, anyway?

You're the one who came to visit me? What can I do for you?  Is this business or pleasure? He grins, clearly relieved that I'm..talking out loud. It's been a long quiet week here on Testosterone Point.

Neither. About Henry's thoughts-

Okay. You know something? First, you're compromised so if Jacob tells you something I tend not to take it seriously because he can't do that and secondly, I am flexible enough to comprehend the whimsical thoughts of a thirteen-year-old boy. I'm not taking it personally. I was his age once.

No, you were never.

Only because you never knew me at that age.  

Right so you were never. 

Is that proper grammar, Miss Writer? 

Nope. Not hardly. 

He laughs. Am I forgiven then for the awful Nevada incident?

Nope. Not hardly neither. 

Jesus, Bridget, why did you come to me? And speak proper English, please. He waits, handsome in his navy cashmere t-shirt and volcabularic perfection.

To make sure you were okay with what Jacob said and that's affirmative so....see ya. 

Wait! Don't go so fast. Want some lunch? I know a girl who really loves her cheese toast. 

Another day, maybe. 

Promise me. 

Can't do that. Gotta go.

 The whole walk back to the top floor of the main house to check on Lochlan and report for inspection since I was granted seven minutes exactly, all I can think is, 'compromised'?

Shade.

Today when I got to the empty shelf under the drill press on the workbench in the garage, I found a care package.

In it was a blanket, a pillow, a comic book, a granola bar, a bottle of water, a flashlight and a rubik's cube. I don't know who put it there, I just know I'd rather be out here than in there today.

***

Ben finished a song for Loch this morning. Loch was singing really quietly but then he started coughing like crazy so Ben picked it up and sang it softly to the end. Then he told Lochlan it was amazing how the stronger he gets the weaker Loch gets and is it a ploy to get more of my attention? The sarcastic Scot came out swinging, telling Ben he can get my attention without any effort and that if Ben thinks he would risk his life for a little more quiet time with the girl then, well, he can go to hell.

Oh dear.

I warned Loch softly in gaelic to stop. Just a couple of words and Ben came rushing across the room asking me what it means. What did I say? Are we going to leave him on the outside forever or just when it's truly important?

It made me want to cry to see him like this.

But I didn't cry. I taught him the words once taught to me and then I left them there together. They can sort this out. They can figure out where they stand with each other because they both know where they stand with me.

***

Jake asks if I know who left the package.

Go away, I tell him. You're not real and I'm crazy and I don't want to talk in case Joel hears me. 

Joel is working. We have the place to ourselves. He sprawls out on the floor across from me. He's all long legs and seventies wavy hair. His grin slows my heartbeat down to a flat line. I don't want to die under a drill press. I may not have a say.

I'm as real as you need me to be, Bridget.

I need you to not be anything so I can get better. Please go away. 

When you're done needing me, you'll let me know and then you'll let me go. 

What if that never happens?

I don't know, Bridget. What comic book is that?

The Starman Omnibus. 

Ah. Lochlan's fictional alter ego. 

Richard Swift. This has nothing to do with Lochlan.

Oh right. Accent. Top hat. Magical powers. Not a villain but not a hero either. Seems about right. 

Wow. You guys really have it in for him lately. Can you cut him some slack please? He almost died last week. 

I succeeded in that. Do I get slack?

Not a chance. 

See? Loch is the lucky one. Your loyalties are ironclad. 

To my boys. Including you. 

The hierachy with him at the top. 

So? 

You admit it? 

I don't know what you want from me today, Jake. 

I wanted to know if you knew who left you the care package. Because it wasn't the magical fire thrower looking out for your best interests this time. 

Then tell me who it was. 

It was Henry. Now you'd better start pulling your shit together a little better than this, Princess, because you have to be the parent he needs. Don't let the Devil turn that beautiful child into a mirror of himself. Because that child wishes out loud to God that a miracle somehow makes him Loch's child so that he and Ruth can match and so you and Caleb won't have to fight anymore.

Bleak light.

And we find what we're made of
Through the open door
Is it fear you're afraid of?
What are you waiting for?

She's still a stranger, I assure him as he catches up to me on the beach. I walked as slow as I could, but invariably I move faster, close enough to touch, close enough to be coated in salt from the heavy air down close to the water. He doesn't begrudge me that, it's something I can't control.

He asks for a barometer on my relationship with the Pacific in all of her newness, a face I don't recognize even though I have studied her now for the better part of the past four years.

He isn't pleased with the result. You still want to go home? 

I don't think I have a home anymore. I feel like the memory, the thing that sort of drifts along with the rest of you and you indulge every now and again but then I go back to hovering on the sidelines while life whips past me so fast I can't focus on any of it. It's all a blur. 

That wouldn't change if we went back, Bridget. 

I know. Maybe that's why I stay. And also I don't have to deal with the snow here. 

Well, there is that. He laughs and it's only slightly hoarse now. Things are better. A little less pain, a little more air and we are go for heal. Go for marginal activity. Go for slow walks. Go for kisses in the middle of the night without him shutting me down as he fights for air without pain.

His eyes are crinkled up in the sun, curls starting to lift again after a radical hot-weather haircut that makes them hide for the first couple of weeks afterward, possibly in fear. His lips are chapped, his moods are fluid, his temper so short I'm bigger than something else in this life finally and his immune system is shot so he's getting a cold now and we'll have to deal with that too. His doctor said mostly keep sleeping. Keep taking it easy, so sure, let's climb down the cliff onto the beach and then have to climb back up later. No big deal, right?

We took our time. It wasn't so bad, actually. He said he felt better for the fresh air blast. That's just like home even though what was temporary for him is everything to me, as always because I have no capacity for temporary or in the moment. Or fleeting.

I just latch on for dear life to every damned thing and I hate that about myself but here in the sun and the wind and the corrosive, heavy salt it doesn't seem like such a destructive thing. It seems normal and touching and not at all fatal, as they say it's supposed to be.

We walk slowly down the beach, stopping to pick up glass, pointing out boats to each other and he asks how do I come to accept this sea in place of my own?

That isn't possible. 

Why not? What if we never leave here? 

What if we did? I'd be a traitor. 

So?

The first thing you ever taught me was loyalty. One for all, all for one. Put each other first, back each other up, be supportive. Find allegiance. Focus. She would know. She'd kill me. 

The Atlantic?

Yes. 

You're not supposed to personify things to the point where they have the power to threaten you. 

It's not a threat, just an inevitability. 

I can't tell if you're being dramatic or resigned.

Both. Neither. 

Bridget-

I think we should go back now. I'll call Ben to meet us half way just in case you need a push or a piggyback or something. 

Bridget-

Let's go, okay? I'm cold and you shouldn't be out here anyway.

(Pretty sure I'm getting sick because I don't care about much of anything.)

Today's high points include a baking sheet loaded with bacon, a one-point decline in the pain scale for one guy and just a random dull aching whole face for me, a kid who really freaking loves the Destiny game we fretted over when we lost the pre-order receipt and a pewter envelope from next door with only a polaroid inside.

It was a picture of a plate of toast with cheese.

A peace offering.

I shredded it. The picture, not the toast. I didn't get any toast. I don't want any toast today.

Still a girl of few words.

I'm cranky today. It's Monday. The teachers are still on strike, Lochlan's still a six on a pain scale of one to ten and I just came home from an appointment in which my dentist (who is my size) climbed all over the back of the chair, assistant in tow, to place a dental dam on me to fill a couple cavities, finally telling me I have a very tiny, tight little jaw.

I know.

Speaking of people who complain my jaws are small,  I sent the thousand-dollar bill to Caleb. What fun that was. He sent back instruction to just use the credit card. It was four tiny cavities, all told. I was caught by surprise.

Because candy.

And Bridget.

Two things that go well together. Pretty sure that whole bag of Orange Crush Twizzlers that almost killed me this summer (in one sitting) had nothing to do with this state of affairs but I'm also pretty sure that one sitting today doubled the number of fillings I have, though the first half are silver because I'm old.

Also speaking of old, Caleb is just completely, utterly put out that I won't actually speak to him.

Between the awful trip, the I-told-you-so horse debacle and the fact that as we were leaving this morning for the dentist I caught Batman heading up the steps to the boathouse because he thinks he can run this whole show and Caleb sometimes won't stand up to him), I have zero things to say to Caleb. Maybe that will change when the children go back to school but since we've already procured all of their supplies and clothes, their teeth are clean and cavity-free and we're good to go, there will be little to say.

My heads hurts so bad. I don't care if I don't know where I'm going with this. Come back tomorrow.

My guts are all in my head.

Today's progress included showers (!) and getting dressed (!!) and then Lochlan summoned up the energy to be all indignant/accenty over Scotland's move toward independence. He had a little bit of coffee and a lot of juice and then...

He fell asleep mid-sentence.

Face-first into the front of Ben's flannel shirt.

It was probably the sweetest thing I've seen a long time and also a brutal reminder how fragile he is right now. I don't like it. It freaks me out and makes me compensate by being so outwardly tough I could stop a tank, I swear.

But no one's got one so I think I'll go to bed early and watch movies on the iPad with the headphones while they sleep.

It's funny. The children stay up til midnight every night reading and we can barely drag ourselves through dessert anymore.

(Dalton just said 'Outwardly tough'? Say what? Bridget you're peanut brittle. We'll look after things. Go get some rest.)

Blankets.

Lochlan spent most of last evening and today sleeping. Ben and I went to get Ben's iPhone replaced (swelling battery wtf?) and on the way to the Apple store he was pretending to be the radio and every time I pressed an invisible button on his chin he would change the station. Sometimes it would be a different genre (opera and country included and a hell of a rap channel), sometimes it would be commercials, sometimes a soothing voice in a made-up language, and sometimes just static, white-noise, oblivion.

It was so funny. I laughed and laughed in the truck beside him. We sort of figured a tentative date to reschedule the birthday dinner and when we came home, Ben went up to snooze with Lochlan and I settled into the library to start Blankets and have a good stiff drink (well supervised, of course.) An hour later I've finished a third of the bourbon in the bottle (well supervised, of course) and a third of the book and I'm not sure if I want to escape into sleep too, like Ben, Lochlan and Craig (in the book), or just sit here and ruminate on how things are okay and maybe levelling out and how badly we complicate everything God has given us to the point of total destruction. I'd talk to Sam but I hate to subject him to my drunk self. I'd talk to Ben but same. I'd talk to Lochlan but he needs more sleep than worry and I'd talk to Jake but he would just tell me to believe and to give my heart up to Jesus and everything will sort itself out.

Last time he said that I laughed in his face and asked him how the Jesus nickname was working for him and he clued in and told me that he wasn't Jesus, he was only a messenger for God and I laughed in his face again and told him I didn't think so. That if Jesus was here and he was perfect and flawed and would die for our sins that he was definitely Jake and then I asked him why he died for someone who wasn't worth it and he disappeared again.

But that's okay. I have this book to read while I wait for the second coming. While I wait for everyone to wake up. While I wait to be saved from myself. It hurts to read this book. It hurts to be me, maybe. Hence the escape in a Tennessee whiskey and a fifteen-pound graphic novel. Some days are just like that.

Following the green stripe.

He is pale and fighting for breath when I get in. The hesitation between words is what gets me collecting our things before he can make his pride shine. Inside of forty minutes we're at the hospital and he is sent right up. Oxygen. Painkillers. More x-rays. Please don't admit him again, tomorrow is his birthday.

Finally the room clears. It has to run its course. He is healing, albeit slowly. Stop pushing so hard. Stay down. Stay quiet.

Almost didn't make it to forty-nine, did I?

I'll tell you tomorrow.

We're missing dinner.

I put my head down on the bed and he puts his hand over it. We'll reschedule.

I'm sorry, Peanut.

For what?

I was trying to impress you. I took a chance and it came back and bit me.

Why would you need to impress me?

You're my girl.

Impress me by being safe, then.

You're weird.

You're the one in the nightgown.

Hey, cut me some slack. I'm an old guy now.

At forty-nine? Yes, you are, Lochlan.

You make me feel young.

Could just be all that fresh newness on your insides.

Aye, it could be that.

The high-functioning wards.

Joel was here this morning. Early. Whoever gave him a key is about to be ruined, he's a stranger and my children sleep in this house.

He will tell you he's one of Jacob's oldest and dearest friends and in order to make the big switch to being one of mine as well, he sacrificed everything. I don't recall asking him to do it. Jeez. My 'fondest' memories of the guy are being undressed by him in the front hall after I came home, after Jacob flew, and before that of him chasing me up the steps right behind Jake and then both of them holding me down while Joel slid a whole shitload of tranquilizers into my veins after Cole.

Maybe psychiatrists are not the best sorts of friends to have. I don't know any anymore though, so I can't answer that.

I need to talk to Ben. You keep saying he isn't doing so hot. Is anyone doing anything about it?

Sam walks in. His timing. I don't even know. I'm working with him.

Maybe he'd like to talk for a bit to someone else.

I'm working with him. Sam repeats himself. Joel misses the vitriol and continues to address me. Ask him or I will. There's too much at risk for him to have you two put up a wall in front of me.

You're unqualified.

I have the training.

And it's ILLEGAL for you to use it anymore, Joel.

So help your husband and maybe keep it quiet. Isn't he worth doing everything you can?

Ben will be fine.

You're an enabler, Bridget.

I'm PROTECTING him from YOU.

I'm not out to hurt him.

Then leave us alone.

What's going on? My patient comes into the room. Still raspy, still hurting but won't stay down. I start tea for him and turn back to Joel.

Joel was stopping by to offer some help but he has to go now.

Bridget, if you stand in the way of Ben's recovery you'll have to answer to all of us.

Threats? Really? Is this because I talked to August?

I could hear you.

From the front porch. You live a hundred yards away. Were you eavesdropping?

If he shows up and suddenly you have a laundry list of people you want him to fix then you need to look closer to home.

Oh my God. You're jealous.

No, I want to help. I want to make amends.

By moving in and secretly keeping notes on me for Caleb? You had one job, Joel. I guess you botched it good. Maybe you should save face and just go.

But Lochlan is watching Joel and he's not going to dismiss him the way I do.

Is that it? Is she right? Are you jealous of August?

I'd like to help.

And Lochlan roars. ANSWER THE QUESTION! His voice is so strained it hurts to listen.

Joel stands there. I don't know how hard it is to weigh the words but it's going to be better for him if he just admits his weakness (not like it won't be shared, diluted among them all) but instead he lies and says he just wants to help any way he can, and that he'll have a report for me on Caleb soon just so we're on equal ground.

I don't want that.

I do, says Loch.

Hush, you.

Sam says This isn't the way they play the game and I burst out laughing because he's right. Oh, he's so right.

Joel says he'll drop it off later and I see him out. At the door I ask for the key and he gives it and I tell him if he's hungry or he needs something that he can message me or PJ and we will feed him or whatever but he doesn't have the right to just walk in. He's a guest, not a member of the collective and that's never going to change.

Please tell Ben to come see me, Bridget. Don't be selfish now. You've never acted this way in your life. Don't risk it with Ben.

I shut the door in his face.

Rest real loud.

Aw fuck. Chimaira just packed it in after fifteen long years. God love 'em. PJ is near tears and now we're wondering who the hell is going to soundtrack the mosh pits in the kitchen every day.

Good for them though. Family first. It's a tough biz any way you shake it.

(Actual daily post to follow after the obligatory amazing seven-album listen through. This is how we mark time.)

Fleeting.

August stayed long enough to wash off the dust, get a haircut and a shave and read Joel's report. I thought he would laugh. I thought he might roll his eyes and give a colorful curse or two but he nodded and then he kept nodding and he said it was about right but he said it softly, defensively as if I was about to lash out at him or fall apart but it just proves that they don't understand unconventional people and basically it made me stick even closer to Loch and to Ben. Loch is still having some godawful chest pain and Ben is retreating from us but not physically and I had to ask August if he could just deal with him instead, that even at my worst I have a good net here but Ben tends to fall right through it. Probably because of the huge weight difference between us. Or maybe because the net was just never designed for the types of tricks Ben does.

I don't know but they were locked in the library talking for a damn long time and when they came out they both looked spent and grim.

Sam needs to step up. He favors me. Maybe they all do because Ben doesn't give them a chance. I'm a open book. I'll sing to you my flaws and read aloud from the big book that is my fears. Ben won't say a word until he's so far gone he's lost. So maybe you're going to first fix the easier thing.

Which, okay so no, that's not it then.

Can't be.

August is gone now, on the plane that's going to bump his slender knees through Edmonton, Montreal, Halifax and into Gander. It might take him the rest of the week to get home at that rate but he wouldn't stand for me rearranging his itinerary to make things easier for him.

So I didn't. But I also didn't stand for him agreeing with Joel because I know what's wrong with me, I don't need to see it on paper, I don't need it agreed with. I don't need the confirmation that I'm some sort of enigma who has so many things wrong inside her skull they practically cancel each other out at this point. Instead I just made devilled eggs and chocolate-covered strawberries and I soaked up all of the Newfie while I could because I sincerely doubt he'll be back again this way before Christmas and then I put on my bravest face (and biggest lie) at the door when he left.

The pilgrimage back from Nevada.

(Still waiting for my money, Diabhal, if you'd put a rush on that. What? Your assistant isn't handy? She's busy, sorry. Do it yourself for once.)

I'm still mostly strung out on stress here and unable to sleep, remember things or get past the end of my nose with my list of chores. Sam redelegated my Monday for me and triaged me right through the morning. I can't seem to let go of Lochlan's hand. I don't want to take my eyes off him. The thought of ever losing anyone else to an accident or illness or anything for that matter leaves a simmering fear always on the verge of boiling over and maybe I don't do as well as I thought I did.

Ben gave up and handed me off to Sam almost too quickly. Hurry up, he must be thinking. Fix her up and then come look after me because I'm the one everyone dismisses or forgets because I never keep my shit together long enough to be counted. 

He's wrong but try telling him that.

Sam is doing well. This house is a full time job, I think. Probably Joel's job but as long as he is here to create reports and feedback on me I'm not speaking to him.

I just want to sleep. I want to have a good dream. I want to eat pizza without feeling sick and I'd like to maybe watch a really good movie without poking holes in the dialogue or the plot or the effects.

And then I heard a big Newfie walk in the front door, but only because he was yelling our names.

And I flew off the couch, and Lochlan's head snapped up because he had almost fallen asleep and he said is that August? 

And it was. Fresh and wasted from yet another goddamned Burning Man, because this guy never learns.

Breathing now.

Convalescent day with the pyrowrecknical who has a lovely raspy lilt to his voice that makes my knees buckle just splendidly. I think he totally fucked up and didn't want to admit it because he likes to be perfect even as he makes zero attempts to belong, fit in or mingle with the norms. He'll always be the outsider and that will probably be his downfall but for the next few weeks he is mine while we run the gamut of pills and x-rays and pulmonologists (?) and side effects. He hates antibiotics and steroids just make everyone mean but he has to take those too because lungs are precious things.

I can spoil him with Netflix and cuddles and music. Maybe a drive later if he gets restless (he does, endlessly) and Ben promised to entertain him tomorrow while I go grocery shopping because I'm tough and I'm resilient and lately it seems like the bad luck is offleash and running free but the horse was going to die anyway, rarely have I ever had a really good trip with Satan and frankly after so long at it the fact that Loch had a relatively mild industrial accident is almost a relief because the odds are back on his side again now, even though it will probably be next summer before he gets to give it another go and I have been summarily banned from ever doing it again for the big fire-transfer kiss finale because now suddenly it's too dangerous and he said if this had happened to me I would be dead.

Granted, that might solve as many problems as it makes, but he has a point and I'm just glad our livelihood no longer has to depend on these sorts of things. We've seen people have to leave a show due to accidents or illnesses and it was never not heartbreaking for everyone involved.

Lochlan doesn't agree with me on being glad we're out. He wanted to be a lifer but I dragged him into the real world and I bet he resents me for that even as he says he never ever would, that I have shown him the sweet parts of life as I jam down beside him into the couch and steal the remote the first chance I get. Because girl movies, for the win.

Nothing else matters (if you can't breathe).

Long day at the hospital today because we took Lochlan in around three this morning after discovering he might have aspirated kerosene from his show earlier in the evening. He was coughing constantly and couldn't seem to take a deep breath. He kept saying he was fine but he's proud like that. He said if he sat quietly he would be able to recover but then he didn't and I started panicking.

No one wants to see that ramp up so Loch agreed to be seen.

(And then all hell broke loose as we ran into unexpected legal issues and next of kin issues and we had to call in his parents. This went over well.)

He was released a couple of hours ago. Apparently the fact that he has thirty years of experience in fire breathing/eating/throwing might have saved his life, but he's being treated anyway and will have half a dozen x-rays between now and Christmas. He's taking antibiotics to help heal his lungs and he's unwilling to say he won't do it again, he'll just make sure not to do it when he is tired/distracted/pissed-off.

Scottish people can be so ornery and wonderful.

I'm glad this one is okay.

Now I need to go fall apart. I always think I'm through the hard parts of life and life keeps telling me different.

Strike one.

This trip was tough. I didn't write or say much about it. I didn't want to. He propositioned me almost hourly. I turned him down each and every time. At night I locked my door. I would not eat with him, sleep with him or spend any leisure time with him. I hardly spoke to him.

As a result, we argued near constantly when we were together because he couldn't get it through his thick evil skull that just because he snaps his fingers doesn't mean I'm going to give in.

So he said maybe he should snap my neck instead and hopefully that would get my attention.

DIDN'T WORK.

I'm still here. Well, for the moment. Reading the paper and seeing the eleventh hour teachers talks failing and it looks like no one's going back to school in three days and I'm thinking I'll be homeschooling for a bit until they do. I did it twice before, it's not that hard. But kids need their friends too and freedom from home and it's always far easier to learn from someone who isn't Mom. We'll review the curriculum and go from there. It better not take long though. Caleb is still threatening to pull them and put them in private school. The one he likes is in London.

I don't think so and so far the judges have been on my side.

Lochlan just needs one more reason to throw that ax, too. Let's not forget he is armed. Also probably more dangerous than he looks.

But since tonight is the final Saturday night of summer, we're going to cast our worries aside and have a light show with some fire throwing and some bubble-blowing (solution mixed with glow stick innards) and turn on all the tiny fairy lights and make some magic. It's not so cold and it could be the last night without rain that we're still officially on summer break to do it in.

(Well, probably not at the rate the teachers' union and the government is going but just in case, let's call it as we see it.)

I'll be in bed early though. I'm tired.

Seasonal humans.

While I was gone Summer packed her things and went away and in her place Fall stands in boots and plaid, patiently waiting while I pack away my swelterweight belongings and haul out jeans, Docs and a cozy long sweater.

I've missed you, Bridget, he says and I smile because I technically hate hot weather. It makes me sick to my stomach. He's so handsome. If only he would stick around longer, keeping me in brightly colored leaves and hot chocolate and the soft pre-Christmas, post-Halloween glow, I might never wish for anything else.

I wish I had known you were coming, I lecture him as I rush around bringing in candles off the porch and putting away water toys and swim towels. Flipflops and summer rain jackets go up to their owner's respective closets and midweight coats and corduroy comes back. Plaid flannel is suddenly not a torture device but a damn fine fashion choice.

Beards are formally invited to grow back and grow long.

Fingers are always kissed and freezing.

Coffee is welcome around the clock, preferably with something else mixed in.

Not like we have to winterize like at the castle with the closing of doors, cordoning off of entire areas and putting up storm windows. Worrying about the ancient furnace and the remaining unprotected windows, tucking just another layer of quilts onto the beds. Finding cats in the closets, burrowed into things that fall off hangers.

No, here, Henry probably will stick to shorts until it snows, the furnace stays off until mid-October and Halloween is coats-optional.

I really love it. I love it when school goes back into session too but they're still working on that.

And I love a guy who decided the wood he cut in April wasn't actually enough after all and he's back out there at it again. But mostly not because we need wood any time soon but because it's best to face one's adversaries when one has a very sharp ax in one's hand, ready to grind.

When my feet hit the ground, Lochlan pointed at them and said, They stay there. On the ground. No more, Peanut. None of this. He doesn't need you. 

I showed him my prizes and still he was not swayed.

You belong with me, he said, and that's all he would say before he resumed making the woodpile taller than the garage. And that has a second floor. And Joel still lives there, sadly enough. I was hoping when I came back he'd be gone.

Ben said to let it all be, that Fall seems to be smoothing things out, that he is such a peacemaker where Summer makes people somewhat crazy and prone to being short-tempered and hasty. Fall, by comparison is chill.

He made me laugh, personifying it the same way I do.

Missed you, Little Bee, he said, delighted that he made me laugh right off the bat. Let's go pry the weapons out of Loch's hands and have a reunion dinner. It's going to be a busy week with birthdays, tonight is probably our only chance.

What's amazing about Vegas is that if a girl walks down the street in tears, everyone assumes that she lost a bundle gambling. Everyone offers her a few more chips, maybe dinner, a drink, a place to stay, a platitude about how it's just money, tomorrow is another day, everything is going to be okay, etc. until they realize they aren't helping and they fade out of the picture, their face blurring as the next face comes into focus but she just keeps walking and walking and thanks her Gods for kitten heels and empty credit cards and wonders if she should have a weapon so far from the busier areas because the US is different and riskier somehow and then finally he takes his sweet time showing up, telling her he didn't think she'd get that far. She reminds him that she's good at running and he accepts that because it's true.

Then he tells her to get in the car and they'll go home but when she looks inside the car she sees the devil and she doesn't want to go with him anywhere. He never shows himself to anyone else, just her and it isn't fair.

Hard to believe at one time he was one of the youngest CFOs on Bay Street.

Bridget.

He is sitting across the table tracing a steady groove into his coffee cup with his thumb. He's not looking at me. It's a dry cool morning and he is in a long sleeved white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Black pants. Hair perfectly combed but still wet. Close shave. Top two buttons undone so I can just barely see the first letter of the tattoo over his heart.

Yes? 

I sit back in my chair, cup clutched against my breastbone with both hands, one thumb looped through the handle, pretty grey dress into service again because I'm still losing weight and it's a perfect fit when I do with the matching jacket (to cover my own tattoos). No shoes. I wait for the lecture. I didn't do my chignon. I didn't bring the stupid shoes (I walk too much here so kitten heels only) and my hair is still wet because breakfast arrived and I was starving.

He takes a sip and still doesn't look at me.

Why do you come here?

I believe the term is 'at gunpoint'. 

I didn't hold a gun to your head. 

The day is young. 

This makes it harder. 

And if I don't come with you my life is so much easier. 

Are you afraid of me? 

Yes.

If you were not, would things be different? 

No. 

Tell me why. 

I don't want to do this today. 

You're so hot and cold with me. 

I'm like this with everyone. Don't think you're special. 

Not what I mean. 

What do you mean? 

You're...incredibly loving and obedient and then you just shut down. 

I scowl and look out over the strip. It's tacky and filthy. Nothing ever changes here except the names on the buildings, the names on the billboards. The tourists, the prostitutes, the dealers, the mob. It's all the same. The servers all look like they sold their souls so long ago their earthly forms have all but expired, the neon glitz burning a hole right through their flesh, the promises of the next hand crippling everyone into servitude. And bachelorette parties everywhere as if Vegas is the bottom and the only way now is up.

I never had a bachelorette party. I wouldn't know.

What should I do differently then? 

Keep to the rules. 

Who are the rules for again?

He has almost rubbed the coating off his cup and he grimaces like he's in pain and then checks his expression. Come. We have a busy day. We'll get coffee again en route. 

En route to where? 

Funding meeting at ten.

I don't need to be there. 

Yes, you do. You're my right hand man. You call the shots. You tell me if we're up or down. You read them better than even I can.

That's bullshit and you know it. 

Go finish getting ready. We can fight in the car.

Judge, jury, executioner (on my way to Vegas but not for fun).

They've even got a special name for us when we work on the show. Maybe you can guess it, Bridgie. Part of the word 'carnival' is in the name. 

Lowlives. Caleb snorts to himself and opens another beer.

I frown at Caleb. I think I know what that means and it isn't nice. Lochlan touches my elbow. Think hard, Bridgie.

I am. So hard my eleven-year-old mind is ready to burst. Ummmm...carnivores? 

No less than three of them spit mouthfuls of beer into the bonfire. Christian rolls onto his side. That's the best answer I've ever heard, Bridget. He says.

I'm not sure if he's making fun of me or not. I look at Lochlan, waiting for the correct answer.

Carnies, Bridgie. Want to come be a carny with me? 

Yes, I do. 

Too bad you're too young, Caleb kills the conversation completely. I frown because he's right.

***

He had the plane stocked with Pellegrino, blueberries and lime (for him) and coconut water (for me). A glass was poured for me and I took a huge gulp and thought he had finally succeeded in poisoning me without bothering to make it taste good.

My face said it all.

What's the matter? I thought you loved the stuff. 

I don't even know what this is! Oh, it's plain. 

What do you mean?

I only like the Del Monte pineapple kind. 

I wasn't aware there were differences. 

Try it.

He takes a sip and makes a face.  I'll make a note of it.

I bet you will. 

Pardon?

Nothing.

***

What is that? 

My lucky bracelet. 

And where did you get it?

Loch made it for me. I beam with twenty-one-year-old pride.

Caleb frowns. Where did he make it? 

In the last campfire on the last show. (with a hammer and a piece of old copper wire, he engaged in a little portable blacksmithing, is what he did.)

I see. It's not something that you wear to a place like this, Bridget. 

My personal jewelry isn't up for debate, Cale.

Your attitude is. I can take you to Cartier after lunch. We'll get you a proper one. 

So I'm not good enough for Vegas suddenly? I thought it was the other way around.

He grabs my elbow and squeezes it so hard my knees go to liquid. No, I simply don't need any visual reminders that I brought a lowlife to such a high end spot. 

I yank my arm out of his hand. Should have brought someone else then.

I don't want anyone else. 

Then look at it because I'm not taking it off. 

(In the end he took it off me, pinning me down and making sure I couldn't breathe until I stopped fighting. Business as usual. I never got it back. Maybe I'll ask about it today. Maybe when he's pinning me down. Full circle and all that.)

Softly, now.

Ben's not having a good morning. I left him in bed with the tangled sheets and the curtains drawn tight, kissing his cheek firmly, whispering that I would be home right after church and we would go for a walk on the beach and make really fancy coffee in the good cups.

He squeezed my head very hard and nodded and drifted off again. A lot of things have forced him out of his comfort zone lately. Workwise and here at home as personalities clash and he forces back out in front. He would rather disappear most of the time and let his work speak. I think he learned that from Cole.

But people go through stages and God doesn't make anyone bland. Emotions are the roller coasters of the mind, the heart beats and waves and pumps are the life force and everything runs along barely regulated or patterned, instead forging ahead in a haphazd lope across one's life, intersecting with others, adopting their rhythms and fears. Absorbing their feelings whether they want to or not.

Life is not easy.

And so when I came home I pulled my church dress over my head, trading it for a soft vintage Annihilator t-shirt and pink underwear and I crawled back into bed beside him and when my stomach growled he opened his eyes and said,

My little noise monster came back.

I came back. For you. 

He burst out laughing. My lines were from House of Flying Daggers. I answered him in Mandarin, just like in the film. Impulsive to a fault.

I love you, Bridget. You make me laugh. 

Good, then please take me to breakfast?

I have to get up?

I want one of your fancy breakfasts. 

This is my day off to be home all day and not have to go out. 

Well....tough. Hash browns! Sourdough toast! Baaaaaaaaacon.

He rolls up on one elbow and dials a number.  After a minute he gives his name and asks for someone. Then he asks if he can have two meals delivered and he repeats our address and gives the guest code for the gate.

Twenty minutes later he goes downstairs in his pajama pants and comes back up with two waxed boxes and two coffees. Breakfast picnics in bed are better than pizza in bed. I have a plastic fork in my hand, egg yolk in my belly button and bacon in my hair.

He dials once again and tells Loch to come up for leftovers. I hit him with my pillow and he pins me there until Loch walks in, already laughing.

Oh, Jesus. What a mess. 

Mm-hmm. She's delicious. 

Anything wrapped in bacon is delicious. 

And she speaks Chinese! 

That a feature or a bug?

Oh, I don't know, Brother. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

On catching the Zs and then releasing them.

One of the downsides of being a tiny narcoleptic who loves to hide away from the world is that sometimes the world panics when they can't find her after hours of texting and searching and calling.

My phone was in the pocket of Ben's shirt from yesterday. My hearing aids still in my handbag and my eyes closed tight. I missed lunch. I missed Lochlan's complete meltdown and Ben's weird self-reassurance that I probably went for a walk. I was told they searched all six buildings, all vehicles, the beach and the boat and were on the verge of calling the police when I staggered back into the kitchen half-awake. I sometimes lie down for a minute wherever I can. I fall asleep in seconds during life but never when I'm supposed to. There is no privacy sometimes and I just want to withdraw a little. Plus I get so tired during the day but at night the worries take turns shaking me awake. I will curl up here or there for what seems to be five minutes to my sleeping mind but to them is an entire day.

A stressful one.

The threat is that I am to be microchipped, like the dog. Good. Does that mean no one will wake me up with the yelling and slamming doors?

Might sell my soul for that car.

(If it were still mine to sell, I suppose.)

I rendered the Devil speechless with my gesture. He took one step into the salon, saw all of the blue and sat down on one of the chairs.

My brother's eyes. You honored him with this. 

No, I honored you with this. I stand on deck, just outside, hands clasped in front of me, shoulders rolled in. I can be kind. I can try to make things easier.

He went down to the lower deck and found more of the blue in the cabins and the stateroom and came bounding back up the steps, the biggest, sweetest smile on his face. He looks so happy. He looks so young when he smiles. He stood right in front of me. Still smiling.

I can't believe this. Why did you do this?

You asked me to have the upholstery changed because it was boring. 

You took quite a chance. 

What do I have to lose? 

If you had made everything red I would have drowned you on the spot. He talks first and thinks second and I turn to go because fuck this.

I'm sorry, Bridget. But knowing you it could have gone that way. 

You wouldn't touch me. 

I would have made you change it back at your own expense. 

Speaking of which, you haven't paid me yet. 

Right. Come with me, we'll head out now and I can stop at the bank. He holds out his hand.

I hesitate.

Just come. Maybe there will be a surprise bonus involved.

There was. A drive all the way to Whistler in the R8 for a waffle cone full of Fluff N' Udder from Cows. Because I'm even easier to please than he is lately.

Your revelation. 

Yes. The one I should have kept to myself?

The very same, yes. I was wondering if you ever thought about it from my perspective. 

Explain. 

Maybe Cole was using you to fund our life together. Taking advantage of your grand scheme to keep us afloat so he could paint instead of waste time working. Maybe you were the one who was fooled. 

So you think he loved you?

Yes. I do. Who doesn't? Why would he remain immune even as everyone else falls? I don't buy your explanations because I lived with him. I spent my life in his arms. I looked into that blue. I knew him better than you did. 

Then I was taken advantage of. 

I bet that happens a lot. 

I bet it happens less than you might think, Neamhchiontach. How is your ice cream? 

Delicious. Do you want a taste?

The look he shot me gave me an ice-cream headache. He didn't waste any effort trying to obscure the meaning or appear proper.  I knew the answer without his needing to say a word.

Busy being productive, busy running away within myself.

The downside of living with an introverted, solitary, melancholy-millionaire is that he has a boat he doesn't board unless I go with him. A boat he never takes out, maintained with the detachment of someone who doesn't know how to relax and therefore gets little value from.

On the upside I have discovered the engine room on the boat is the perfect place to hide. No wonder they freak out and consider me drowned in the sea every time they can't find me. I leave messages for the kids. I don't for the adults. Ruth sometimes brings her sketchbooks down and spreads out on deck with her charcoal and headphones. Henry plays video games in the salon.

Not sure what the fuss is. If we still had a treehouse I'd be in that instead. The boat is as close to a treehouse as we will get here.

Because bears.

I had all of the upholstery and linens changed from their bland gold and tan to a lovely stormy dark blue. It's an indescribable North Atlantic blue, grey-navy, smoky rich. Cool dark tealish color. Cole's eyes.

It looks so much better. Sometimes I think this is my toy instead of his.

And that's fine.

Maybe one of these days I'll take her out but our cove is tiny and this would be the equivalent of parking Ben's F350 on a postage stamp for me.

(I can't park his truck, when I go somewhere I use a space at the end of a parking lot and walk for miles and when I get home I leave it idling in the center of the driveway and someone comes out and deals with it.

But I can deal with leading the custom upholstery people down to the boat and then collect them again to inspect the job and furnish their departure. I'm good with details and terrible with big pictures. I paid a fortune in extra fees because instead of bringing the boat to them, I had them brought to me. This boat is a waste of money.

As is his costly personal assistant who barely speaks to him.

On the upside I have a beautiful hiding place. Her name? Neamhchiontach. Just like me.

Starved.

Lochlan has a huge project right now that is keeping him from the usual routine of throwing fire and flipping tables. Schuyler is a taskmaster and keeps wrapping him up in these huge things with nice payouts and while they do keep Loch out of trouble I miss him something fierce. So when he came home very late last night we ordered a pizza and took some cheap wine out on the balcony and sat and stared at each other while we chewed our food.

He cut his hair because it was driving him crazy in the heat. His curls just get flatter as his hair gets longer and so now he's back to his wavy mess but he looks good.

You're not going, Peanut. 

Of course I'm not. 

He'll talk you into it. 

If you think I'm going to a place where they arrest people for holding hands in public you're mistaken. 

If you think you can outwit the devil you're naive. 

Make the wall, then, and defend. I won't go and he can't force the issue against all of you. 

That's true. 

So let's change the subject because I will be safe. 

Okay, what would you like to do? Did you want to watch a movie or something?

I raise my eyebrows and drain my wine without a word.

Oh, I see. 

What do you see?

I see you're wearing too many clothes and I haven't touched you all day. 

Right on both. Can we fix this?

We can fix this. 

HEY GUYS.

THIS. 

HOLY SHIT.

BRB. BB FANGIRLING.

(Also, might be going to Dubai in November. Help me.)

Yawns aren't contagious and that's how I know he's Satan.

(It's not even eight in the morning so this won't be arranged the way I like it but I rounded up my hourly rate for the Devil for my assistant services and he didn't even bat an eye so here the fuck I am. We've hit mid five figures. This makes me laugh. I don't even know what I've gotten myself into anymore that he pays me so much for doing stupid things he could hire a service to do for fifty bucks. Especially since I wind up giving it all back to him in rent and putting what the boys give me toward their share into certificates that they can cash in later, with interest. I'm nice like that. I try to look after them too because they look after me. And that is all above board and has nothing to do with sex, since fully a third of my readers have decided I must be sleeping with everyone. Christ, people. I would have been worn clear through years ago.)

Caleb uses work as an excuse to chip away at my resolve when I'm angry with him. I get easily distracted in the details and drop my guard every. single. time. We only seem to be at DEFCON 3 today though. He's being Charming. I'm being Distrustful. We're using our Words. This Sucks.

I am terrified of revolving doors and won't walk through one alone.

Converting dirhams to dollars is pretty easy and surprisingly cheap, making this trip I'm trying to finalize for Caleb to Dubai in November much less painful than I expected it would be. The Atlantis? Check. Races? Check. Dolphins? Check. Driver? Check. Bridget? Not on your life.

Cookies before ten in the morning? Gross. Not what I meant by breakfast pastries.

Headache? Check.

Coffee? Where? It hasn't been delivered yet.

Idiot wasn't ready when I arrived either. Also well planned. He's possibly the only boss that can spend the first quarter of a workday in nothing but a towel and not get sued for it.

I really have no patience for this today.

He just offered to reformat his Dubai meetings to Sydney if I wanted to go there instead and doesn't get that I'm not leaving the continent with him. Also, you know, I JUST FINISHED booking everything.

Since he slipped that I technically have to sign nothing, I'm back to actually not signing anything and it's nice to just say no.

I do love planning his trips though. Maybe I should have been a travel agent but close enough, I'm a dreamer.

Oh look, fucker can do something. He's ordering a rush breakfast. Finally.

I hate this office. But he hates working from the boathouse so once he was dressed we moved.

I hate my dress too. Maybe light wool before ten in the morning is also gross. So are these shoes. His dress code for work is misogynistic beyond the pale. I should be home in my cutoffs and my Breaking Benjamin tank top. I hear rumors of new music. All the Bens are spooling up at once here.

And the screen on my phone now displays a message from Lochlan. He's so sweet.

It says,

GET
YOUR
ASS
HOME
NOW

It's so nice to be wanted. He's up early though. I feel like a tug of war. I feel like a loser. I feel like crawling out of this dress backwards and walking down West Georgia naked sipping on a pitcher full of coffee.  I wonder how far I would get? That would be something. Something better than this.

But not right now, because I forgot to block the meeting rooms for the trip. Shit.

World domination on a preteen maturity level.

I remain sweetly satisfied that I gave that horse a beautiful place to finish out her days and am incredibly grateful to Ben for his efforts in dealing with this as quickly as he could. He found her on the ground in her stall (said he wouldn't fall for her and he lied, they all lied and spent more time with her than I did) and the first thing he did was text PJ and tell him not to let me out. PJ then invited Joel over to be flayed alive. Two birds, one stone, they figured. PJ and Ben are quite the productive duo when it comes managing me and while I am blissfully ignorant of fully half of the efforts they put in, I appreciate the full hundred percent.

The boys called the vet, arranged for the haulers and also cleaned the stables once Aurora was removed. Ben himself moved all my art supplies back into the stables once the floors were dry and said we really have enough to deal with around here without having to nurture end of life animals larger than him.

So my plan to create a hospice for horses is not going to fly but that's okay. I like the art studio. Besides, most of my plans get vetoed anyway.

For example:

Let's paint the house black! Like the old one. It'll be great.

Let's set up a trapeze at the edge of the yard. 

No? Okay, maybe just a bungy jump. Dip your head in the sea. 

Let's buy the other eight houses up the road and block the highway exit to the neighborhood and NEVER EVER LEAVE. 

Let's all fly to Australia but just for the day because bugs. Big freaking bugs. I couldn't sleep there.

Let's shave Daniel's head but only on each side and leave the middle for a foot-tall mohawk which would be a great way to relive the 90s when Daniel had to duck to get through doorways.

Let's go eat somewhere weird for dinner. I don't mean A&W. (The A&Ws here ARE weird, for the record)

Let's put two entire bags of chocolate chips in this recipe instead of two cups.

Let's have a horror movie marathon and eat saaaaaaalsa and grapes but call them guts and eyeballs.

Let's stay on the octopus until we throw up.

Etc. etc. No one listens to me. Would you? The only person who forces my adult side is the devil and that doesn't seem to be working any better. It's fine, I don't actually want to discuss that today anyway.

I have today to relax and unclench and drink coffee out front with Matt and Andrew (Andrew is officially on duty in case I crash) and then maybe later I'll paint. Lochlan is working and Ben is working and PJ is still asleep! At eleven in the morning! Because what a lazy fuck!

Maybe I should be PJ when I grow up.

I would totally do it just for the beard. Oh WAIT! Peeing standing up! I'm game. Bring it on.

Ten days in heaven.

Yes. My horse is dead too. Maybe I'm the soul collector. Someone make it stop.

The ridiculous spot between alright and okay.

Destabilized as always yet I am the glue holding this family together with paper-thin wishes and stuttering lights.

It can always be worse. The horse is dying. The Devil? Dying. Lochlan is dying of frustration and Ben will kill himself with work. The rest will languish fearfully for me and myself? Well, I've already told you how I'll go and I'm still almost convinced I will fly off the cliff and drown quickly in the sea but it won't be because I jump. I'm not Jacob and I no longer have the courage to step off platforms hoping for the net.

(Nets aren't real.)

They never actually catch anyone because I don't think anyone ever wants to be saved.

John told me not to go out to the stables for the time being. That the vet is coming back. That they'll make sure everything is taken care of. I know. I called the hauler number myself. They're on standby.

Caleb told Lochlan that it's only a matter of time and that pressure has already cracked me and that he can seep in now and Lochlan is so powerless he's a dandelion blown against the wind.

Loch dug in his heels and refused to concede anything because a promise is a promise and once renewed is stronger than ever. There won't be any big shifts and Loch gambles on Caleb's death being next even as we watch Aurora from a respectful distance.

Because it isn't nice to live with pain. It isn't nice to be in pain and it isn't nice to never have relief from that pain. Funny how it's so pragmatic for a horse and such a blooming tragedy for a human. How long do we suffer? Why do you get to decide how long is long enough when you damn well the answer is forever.

Deep breaths, Bridget. Deeper still.

Joel came and tried to apologize. Tried to dismiss, tried to excuse, tried to repent and I sat silently staring through the glass into the woods and he touched my hand and I flinched and PJ jumped to his feet and Joel had the nerve to ask him if he could leave and PJ said nope and then asked me if I wanted Joel to leave and I didn't answer him either. I just kept watching for bears and for lights eventually as they flickered on one by one, powered by the sun, programmed to come on as the sun dropped below my horizon, as the bottom fell out of my universe and I found myself floating in space again, pinned to one of Saturn's rings securely, hanging by my hems.

It's dark and lovely and quiet now and Joel's voice has disappeared. PJ is no longer there and I open my eyes and find Ben staring down at me. I raise my eyes and Loch stands by the window, staring into my woods. He names the lights, the stars, the planets for me and I commit them to memory that we will strengthen with the glue made of time in our endless late summer when all the things we thought would come together mostly fall apart.

Ben smiles gently and tells me he heard I fell asleep midsentence and that doesn't happen so often and I reach up to touch his cheek.

Tired, I tell him and he nods. Close your eyes, Bee. We won't let the wolves get you. 

But everyone's a wolf, I promise and I'm in the dark again, where Loch unpins me from the ring and throws me clear into the sun.